Chapter 1
Chapter One
JULIETTE, EIGHT YEARS LATER
“Can you believe how many hot guys are here?” Briar, a fellow DayGlow model, yelled from across the booth. The sports bar in the Bellagio was entirely too loud.
Stuck next to Briar, Riley jammed a finger in her ear like she’d just suffered hearing damage. “Yes, we can believe it. We’re at a mod-e-ling con-ven-tion. These men are mod-els.” Riley often broke words into syllables, as if she were explaining basic concepts to a toddler.
“I’m just saying.” Briar bounced in her seat, way too energetic for someone who’d been running around in stilettos for the last twelve hours. “It’s wall-to-wall thirst traps.”
I glanced at my best friend Fallon sitting next to me. She carried a heaviness that was unlike her. “Are you okay?” I shouted over the noise.
She smiled, but it looked forced. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”
“Amen to that.” I kicked off my heels and rubbed my temples, trying to head off the stress headache forming behind my eyes. “Why’d I let you all talk me into coming to a sports bar? It’s so loud.”
As if to prove my point, a group of men at the bar erupted in cheers. And clinked their beer glasses together. Ugh.
“You’re an extrovert,” Fallon said with a tinge of frustration. “You love being around people.”
“Correction.” I closed my eyes. “I’m an introverted extrovert.”
“Whatever. Same thing.”
It wasn’t. At all.
“You’re with your favorite people at The Standard,” she said. “You’ve been looking forward to this all year.”
“No. You’ve been looking forward to it all year. Not once have you heard me say that.”
Like every year, I’d been cornered by prospective models who either lobbed backhanded compliments at me or asked invasive, inappropriate questions.
“So are you naturally pretty, or did they, like, train you?” “How much of you is real?” “What happens when you age out? Will they just toss you aside?” “Do you ever get bored just being beautiful?”
Fallon grunted, like she thought I was being ungrateful. “Why?”
Obviously, she wasn’t going to let this go.
I cracked one eye open. “Fal, there are currently at least three paparazzi watching our every move—”
“Your every move,” she interrupted. “No one gives a crap about my moves. And there are no pap here,” she said like I was stupid.
I stared at her, my mouth parting slightly. What was up with her?
“The pap aren’t allowed in here tonight,” Briar said, as if rules mattered to those lens-leeches.
“Whether they’re allowed or not, they’re here, Bri,” I said dryly.
She gave me a look of disbelief.
“Seriously, Julesy.” Riley’s head periscoped as she twisted to see for herself. “I think Fallon’s right.”
I sighed, sat up, and looked directly to my right.
Then I gave a finger wave to a balding man with a terrible comb-over, wearing an outdated University of Knoxville jersey that was two sizes too small.
He’d probably snagged it at a thrift store on the way here.
Nice try, pal. The Mountaineers weren’t playing today.
As a matter of fact, it was their bye week.
I’d heard a couple of guys complaining as we came in.
Unable to hide his chagrin, he tossed some money on the table and scurried out.
“How’d you know he was pap?” Briar asked in wide-eyed wonder.
“Lots and lots of practice,” I said dryly.
“This, right here—” Riley pointed at me, “—is why she’s the Sunburst and we’re not.” Sunburst was what DayGlow called the face of the brand.
Fallon huffed. “She’s the Sunburst because of her face. Where are the others?” She growled, kicking into protective mode. There was my Fal.
“Both are at the bar.” Which was all of fifteen feet behind us. I raised my voice almost to a shout. “They’re wearing knockoff Armanis and fake Rolexes!” Then I swiveled in my seat and made eye contact.
One of the men gave me a toothy grin and shamelessly snapped a photo.
“That’s it!” Fallon yelled, sliding out of the booth. “Out! No paparazzi!” When they made no move to leave, she jammed two fingers into her mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle. The entire restaurant turned, manager included. “Paparazzi!” she shouted, pointing at the vultures.
“Hey!” the manager yelled.
That did it. The men jogged for the lobby.
I laughed. “Nicely done, Fal.”
She flopped down next to me. “There.” She slapped her palms together as if dusting them off. “Now, can you enjoy yourself?”
“Doubtful,” I grumbled. “I just want to go home and watch some mind-numbing TV for about a week.”
“Juliette?” she huffed, and I knew I was about to be scolded. “You’re the woman all other women aspire to be. The woman other women would kill to look like.” She threw up her hands. “What do you have to be salty about?”
I scowled, annoyed at the reminder. But Fallon was right.
As the youngest model ever named the face of DayGlow Cosmetics, I had everything fourteen-year-old me had wanted.
But twenty-two-year-old me had twenty-twenty vision, and if I could’ve gone back in time, I would’ve crossed right through item number one. With a Sharpie.
But I couldn’t admit that to my friends. Not when I was living their dream. “I’m just tired,” I mumbled. “And a touch hangry.”
The fact that our waiter hadn’t taken our food orders yet wasn’t helping.
“Aren’t we all?” Fallon inhaled deeply, like the grease-slicked air might somehow sustain her. “Wish I could order a basket of fries.”
I moaned. “With fry sauce.”
Briar perked up. “Oh my gosh, yes. Do you know how long it’s been? I used to have fry sauce every day after school, with a couple of fries on the side.”
We laughed. It wasn’t lost on me that we were reminiscing about a condiment. Pathetic.
“Yes,” Riley said. “And you were fifty pounds overweight.”
Briar’s face fell for the first time tonight.
“Rude,” I snapped.
Riley held her hands up. “Just saying.”
“Who cares?” Briar said brightly. “What if we just did it? Just this once. Let’s order the fries. And the fry sauce.”
“No,” Fallon said. “You know we can’t.”
“Cecil will never find out,” Briar mused.
“Cecil always finds out,” Fallon, Riley, and I chorused.
DayGlow held weekly weigh-ins the way some employers held weekly drug tests. I’d had no idea when I signed my contract that the obscene paycheck would come with perpetual hunger.
“And if the scale doesn’t tell on you,” Fallon said, “your face will when it blows up like a puffer fish from the sudden sodium overload.”
“I’ll just tell him I got a bad bottle of GlassLift Serum.” Briar puckered her lips, blew out her cheeks like said fish, and crossed her eyes.
When they started daydreaming about what a burger on an actual bun would taste like, I turned toward the entrance, scanning for Declan—the designer I was walking for in tomorrow morning’s finale.
He was supposed to swing by and introduce me to my runway partner, some up-and-coming male model he wouldn’t stop talking about.
I shot him a quick text.
Juliette
You still coming?
He responded immediately.
Declan
Just finished some much-needed alterations. Be there in five.
I gave him a thumbs-up and slid my phone into my pocket.
“So, no fries and fry sauce,” Fallon concluded. “And no burgers with buns.” Fallon’s eyebrows bobbed. “But you know what’s almost as delicious?” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “I think we each need to take home a man tonight.”
“Oh, Fal, no,” I said. “Never do that thing with your tongue again. And no, thank you. There isn’t a man in this bar who’s my type.”
“Is anyone your type?” Riley deadpanned, referencing my nonexistent love life. “Or is there something you’ve been wanting to tell us?”
“I like guys. In theory. In reality, they’re too much work, okay?”
“Then you’re going out with the wrong guys.”
At those words, the back of my neck prickled.
We turned to find Nessa Blackwell standing at the edge of the table, her shiny blond hair perfectly styled, wearing a blood-red dress with a plunging V neckline that left half of each breast hanging out.
Good grief.
I was all for women doing whatever made them feel beautiful—facelifts, implants, whatever. Not my thing, but you do you. Nessa, though? She took plastic surgery to a whole new level and made sure the entire world benefited from the results.
As Nessa scooted in next to Briar, I whispered to Fallon, “What is she doing here?”
“About that…” Fallon’s look said, I’ll tell you later.
“No,” I hissed. “Tell me now.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Fine. I would get to the bottom of this myself.
I looked Nessa right in the eye and faked a smile. “I thought company policy said you had to be employed at least six months to attend The Standard.” She’d only been with DayGlow for two.
“Hmm.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Six months, or you have to be a Glowette.” She picked up Briar’s Coke, took a long draw through the straw, and set it back down.
Was she saying…?
“You got the bump?” Briar squealed, bouncing in her seat. Her knee must’ve hit the table, because everything jolted, and her glass tipped over. The rest of us grabbed ours in time.
Nessa swore as icy cola landed in her lap.
“Sorry!” Briar grabbed a wad of napkins and helped Nessa mop herself up.
I glanced at Fallon, brows raised, asking if it was true.
She leaned in close to my ear. “Just found out an hour ago that she was promoted from background model to Glowette.”
A low curse slipped out, edged with disbelief.
So this is why Fallon was grumpy. Somehow my best friend had kept the jealousy out of her voice.
But there was no way she wasn’t unraveling inside.
She’d been hustling for three years to be promoted to Glowette status—the equivalent of a supporting actress in a play.
But my second reaction, the dominant emotion, was relief. Fallon put on a tough-girl act, but she’d lived a sheltered childhood. The weight of the DayGlow ladder would crush her. She was safer right where she was.